April 29, 2015

Welcome to Wednesday Briefs, where authors post
free fiction of 1000 words or less each week. I used this prompt: make a scene

At
Full Speed, #11

Jake’s breath rattled in
his chest even though he’d stopped crying a long time ago. Or maybe the
rattling sound came from his bones? His whole frame seemed to shake so badly
his knees slammed together painfully, no matter how hard he tried to control
himself.

There had been people,
quite a few actually, who asked if they needed an ambulance, but Bruce managed
to decline all their efforts and concern with firmness and kindness. How did he
do that?

Jake’s face was hidden
against Bruce’s solid chest, which usually would allow him to inhale Bruce’s
scent. Just not this time, since his nose was totally clogged. In between some
hiccups, Jake said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”

“It’s all right, Jake.
Think you can get up if I help you?”

Jake nodded. He had no
idea if his legs would hold him up, but he’d made enough of an idiot of himself
for today. Tomorrow was a different matter. Tomorrow he could start anew and
make even more of a fool of himself. Jake’s throat constricted at that thought,
and for a second, lightheadedness threatened to overwhelm him.

“Jake, shh, breathe.”
One of Bruce’s large hands cupped the back of his head while the other one
steadied Jake around the waist.

“I’m so sorry. You
must—” Jake bit off the rest of what he’d wanted to say. Bruce had made it
perfectly clear he could think for himself.

“I’d like to take you
home now. Would that be all right with you?” Bruce asked. His mouth was close
to Jake’s ear, his breath warm against Jake’s skin. Jake pushed his forehead
deeper into Bruce’s shirt, wanting nothing more than to hide there forever.
“Jake?”

“I… will you stay with
me? Just for a while?” Jake’s heart pounded so loud it had to be audible to
anyone close to him. He didn’t even know if he could stand to be in the same
room as Bruce, or if that would send him deeper into panic, but he knew one
thing for sure: he needed Bruce. His strength, his compassion and… and maybe
even his love.

“Of course I’ll stay
with you. Did you honestly believe I’d leave you alone after such a panic
attack?” Bruce sounded slightly scandalized.

Jake pried his face off
Bruce’s chest, but only far enough so he was able to peer up through his
swollen eyes. “I take it that was a stupid question?”

“Not stupid.”

“But?” Jake pressed,
immediately regretting his inability to shut up. When would he learn not to
force matters?

“But I’d hoped you’d
know me better by now.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Bruce shook his
head but he smiled. “What did you think I’d say?”

“I didn’t think you’d
say anything at all,” Jake blurted. He froze while his heart rate skyrocketed.
A low whimper tumbled over his lips. What the fuck was so difficult for him to
understand about the concept of keeping his mouth shut? It shouldn’t be that hard.
And even if it was, then he should’ve learned his lesson. He should’ve learned
it well.

“What do you mean?”

Jake pressed his lips
together and dropped his gaze. He would not say anything. If he refused
communication, there was no chance of him upsetting Bruce. Though… what if
silence ticked him off? Some guys felt offended by silence, and liked to
inflict pain just to get a response.

“Jake, did you by chance
mean you suspected I’d hit you rather than try to talk to you?”

Jake’s head snapped up,
and he stared at Bruce from wide eyes. A sigh escaped Bruce’s mouth, but
fortunately he didn’t comment further. He simply folded his arms around Jake’s
shaking form and drew him close.

Jake leaned into Bruce’s
body, soaking up the body heat. Belatedly, he realized he’d gone without a
fuss, without a thought of Bruce hurting him. Didn’t that mean on a
subconscious level he knew Bruce was not like the other guys? The ones that had
damaged him beyond repair? He snorted in disgust. How could he lump Bruce
together with those bastards that were responsible for all his scars?

April 27, 2015

Blurb: Corbin Ford, aka the
Nightwatchman, named for the antique pocket watches he leaves behind at jobs,
has been in the cat-burgling business for years. His father was. His
grandfather was. His mother is still one of the most renowned thieves. Corbin
likes his high-profile heists, priceless paintings from private collections,
artifacts from museums, but his favorite? Jewels. Sparkly, beautiful jewels. If
they’re famous, better yet.

Interpol
agent Luke Eldridge has one goal and one goal only: to catch the Nightwatchman.
Luke’s been after him for months, but getting the slip time and again is
getting embarrassing. Luke has never even laid eyes on the bastard, but he’d
happily strangle him. And then arrest him.

When Luke meets Corbin, the man of his dreams, he
falls hard and fast… only to catch Corbin red-handed with his hand in a jewelry
case at the scene of the highest-profile murder that’s rocked the international
world in years.

He always felt like a spider, scuttling through
the underbelly of the city, unseen until he was nearly
gone, an oily black streak in the corner of people’s vision.

Corbin Ford had had a long life of skating along
unnoticed by most. It should’ve been something that bothered him. It would
bother most people. But he liked it. Liked that the woman who might smile
condescendingly at him at the bank, then forget he ever existed, could be the
same one he divested of everything of value hours later. It felt like an inside
joke, one he never planned to share with anyone. He belonged on the outside
looking in. He was comfortable there, had been for thirty-five years.

He was a shadow, and like one, he moved silently
through the night.

A taxi drove past and sent a huge spray of water
up. He managed to jump out of the way of the plume fast enough he barely got
any on his coat. He’d paid enough for the damn thing. Sure, he could afford to
replace it and buy ten more, but it didn’t mean he wanted to.

Corbin swore under his breath and moved closer to
the buildings.

It was still damn cold for March. Damn cold period
as far as he was concerned. He tightened his jacket against the bitter chill
and wrapped his black scarf tighter around his neck. Black jacket, black scarf,
dark jeans, and black shoes. He fit in in the city. Nobody would notice
anything unusual about him.

He shouldn’t have been there, so close to the
scene. It was stupid to watch the house swarm with police and agents, but he’d
needed more satisfaction somehow. The clink of Lady Dalton’s emerald earrings
and the thick, heavy ruby and diamond necklace weren’t enough for him anymore.
He’d spent nearly an hour with the jewels earlier, trying to get the same
feeling he used to get from a particularly good haul. He’d touched the gems and
weighed them in his hand. Even when he’d put them away in a safe far better
than the one he’d fished them out of, there was barely a spark. No heavy dark
thrill. No excitement. The rest of her things weren’t worth more than a moment’s
examination. He’d stolen them for the resale cash, not any particular pleasure.
The emeralds were different. So was that necklace. At least it would’ve been in
the past.

Corbin felt like he was broken.

In retrospect, that was probably why he’d done it.
Why he’d left the watch and the poem for the authorities to find. Interpol was
there; they had to be. He hadn’t seen them, but leaving his father’s old
trademark was a sure bet to get them called. No more was Corbin “a rash of
high-end burglaries.” No. He’d just become a singular and quite important
someone. A thief who was supposedly long gone.

A legend.

The little missing thrill, the one he’d tried
desperately to get from cold jewels and heavy gold, wound its way up his back
when he thought about the Interpol agents finding his little calling card. He
smiled into the dark.

I’m Mj O’Shea:) I
grew up, and still live, in sunny Washington state and while I love to visit
other places, I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.

I spent my childhood
writing stories. Sometime in my early teens, the stories turned to romance.
Most of those were about me, my friends, and our favorite movie and pop stars.
Hopefully, I’ve come a long way since then.

When I’m not writing,
I love to play the piano, dance, cook, paint pictures, and of course read! I
like sparkly girly girl things, own at least twenty different colored
headbands, and I have two little dogs who sit with me when I write. Sometimes
they comes up with ideas for me too…when they’re not busy napping.

April 24, 2015

Today is release day for the German translations of "Seizing It" and the sequel "Too Good to be True?". Seizing It was my very first published book and for this reason alone will always hold a special place in my heart. :)

April 22, 2015

Welcome to Wednesday Briefs, where authors post
free fiction of 1000 words or less each week. I used this prompt: “You’re about to cross a line here…”

At
Full Speed, #10

A shudder rippled
through Jake’s body. Although he’d started to talk, and a tiny voice inside his
head demanded to pour his out heart to Bruce—to let go for once and trust
another human being again—his throat felt swollen and impeded further speech.

Bruce gave his shoulder
a gentle squeeze before he turned his head and pressed a chaste kiss to Jake’s
left temple. Jake gasped, startled by the sudden pressure of firm lips ghosting
from his temple over his cheek to the tip of his nose. Through blurred eyes, he
gazed at Bruce, the man he wanted to throw all caution away for.

“You’re about to cross a
line here, you know,” Jake croaked.

“Are you sure it’s me crossing a line?”

Jake opened his mouth, his
answer of ‘Of course, you’re crossing a line, you’re getting into territory
that’s ugly’ ready, but he stopped before a single word left his mouth. Shaking
his head, he whispered, “No, it’s not. It’s me, and it’s a terrifying thought.”

“Why does it terrify
you? What’s the worst thing that could happen if you tell me?” Bruce asked as
he rubbed circles with his thumbs on Jake’s shoulder.

Without overthinking his
answer, Jake replied, “You’d find out what a worthless piece of shit I am, and
run away from me as fast as you can.”

A second later, the
blood in Jake’s veins seemed to turn into ice. Coldness prickled underneath
Jake’s skin, leaving him shivering and panting. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to… I know you must think I’m pathetic, but I… I can’t do this!”

Jake jerked out of
Bruce’s hold and jumped up from the bench. His feet pounded on the pathway as
he fled. Away. He had to get away from Bruce. The pitying looks. Were they even
filled with pity? Or were those looks already ones of disgust?

He didn’t wait to find
out. He couldn’t wait to find out.
He’d seen those looks so many times in his life already, but if it were Bruce’s
eyes that conveyed revulsion, it would be his undoing. The man had gotten
underneath Jake’s skin too quickly. He didn’t have time to shield his heart.

Jake sped past curious
pedestrians, listening to his shoes slap the concrete in a rapidly unsteady rhythm.
By the time his lungs screamed murder at him, his thigh muscles denied further
assistance, and he slowed to a walk before he gave up the fight altogether. He sat
down on the ground, next to a hydrant, and leaned his back against it. Closing
his eyes to block out people’s stares, he willed his wheezing to stop when he
noticed a presence next to him.

He opened his eyes,
hoping whoever invaded his personal space would just leave him alone. “Bruce?”

“Did you expect anyone
else, sunshine?”

Gasping, Jake tried to
come up with a retort, but his mind remained blank. The only thing he could
think of was, “Did you run after me?”

“I did.”

“But you’re not even out
of breath.”

Bruce chuckled and
winked at him. “I’m in good shape.”

Oh, Jake knew that. And
he liked that fact about Bruce—very much. Despite the circumstances, he felt a
smile tugging at his lips. “You must think I’m—”

“How about I think for
myself?” Bruce cut him off. His eyes showed the same warmth and compassion as
always, but his voice demanded Jake’s obedience. Now.

Swallowing hard, Jake
said, “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yes, you were. You’re
so afraid you’re making sure you’re telling me how I’m supposed to see you,
which is probably the way someone else thought about you. Or maybe not thought
about you, but abused you to the point you couldn’t distinguish between reality
and cruel fantasy.”

Jake’s protective
barriers, the ones he’d so carefully built around his heart for such a long
time now, collapsed. His whole body shook with the effort it took him to ward
off a complete meltdown, right at the corner of a street he didn’t know, with
Bruce kneeling next to him.

Instead of walking away,
Bruce slid closer. With great gentleness, he cupped Jake’s face and guided it
to his shoulder. “Come on, sunshine, let it out.”

Jake lost the battle.
Blindly, he reached out for Bruce’s neck before the first sob tore from his
throat.